


Even SuperCop

by Ezlebe



Category: Hot Fuzz (2007)
Genre: M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 02:50:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5030794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ezlebe/pseuds/Ezlebe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nicholas gasps, chokes, then loses his breath completely, falling to his hands and knees as he crawls over squeaking rats, tearing apart thick cobwebs to kneel forward, so desperate to prove his eyes wrong even as he palms the icy, sallow face in front of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even SuperCop

The sharp edge of a splintered brick scrapes up Nicholas’ leg as he falls through the church grounds, causing pain enough that it momentarily distracts from the chase, but only just until his eyes then cast over the long dead forms that now surround him, memory echoing with the Inspector's words as he starts scrambling to escape the horrors within the cramped, dilapidated caravan. It's even worse outside, though, and every one of them are lying there: the underage drinkers, the farmer with the illegal arms, the brightly dressed shoplifter, even the - even....

Nicholas gasps, chokes, then loses his breath completely, falling to his hands and knees as he crawls over squeaking rats, tearing apart thick cobwebs to kneel forward, so desperate to prove his eyes wrong even as he palms the icy, sallow face in front of him.

It's impossible, Danny was just there, Nicholas had held a knife to his neck, felt a quick pulse underneath his thumb before he ran, so it can't be - it just can't.

Danny's body remains, though, defiant of logic and wearing the same jumper as the night of that farce of a play, and Nicholas still can't find his breath, because that was days ago, too long...

The ceiling of the catacomb starts to crumble, then, and next he begins to hear a low, nearly imperceptible whine. Abruptly, he remembers that he should be running, knows the NWA's right behind him, but it feels so pointless now, as he wipes the dust off Danny's cold cheek. He deserved better than this, deserved a life out from under Frank's thumb, but Nicholas ruined it, he tried to write him up for public intoxication and now he's dead, just like everyone else he's taken into custody since his very first night in Sandford.

All of this is his fault; all these people would still be alive if it weren't for him - Danny would be alive, if only he'd been able to switch off.

The whine grows louder, sharper, and it's then he realizes the sound is coming from him, vocal chords vibrating painfully as he pushes away from Danny's body, crab walking backwards until he pushes up against the adjacent wall. He ignores the dull pressure on his side - another corpse, no doubt - and pulls his knees up until he's hiding his head in the small space in his arms, cheeks going hot and then cold as the –

He chokes again, chest tightening more and more, until finally he manages a gasp, eyes bursting upon as the air floods into his aching lungs.

As his vision clears it becomes apparent that  gone are the dusty catacombs, the rotting bodies, the disintegrating caravan, and he soon realizes he's actually lying on the floor of Danny's messy flat, the blunt edge of an half empty cardboard box pressing into his side.

Danny, bless him, is definitely alive and even still sitting on the couch, staring down at Nicholas with half-lidded, sleep fogged eyes. He looks two parts confused, one part suspicious, and Nicholas breaks the tenuous eye contact to shift until he's lying flat, starting to wonder how to explain why Police Academy had induced such an unlikely subconscious reaction.

"Y're crying," Danny says, after that too long moment, expression beginning to fall contrite. "Couldn't wake you, but 'n I didn't mean to push you off, promise."

Nicholas is still breathing too hard to do little more than nod slightly, tilting his head back and away when the embarrassment gets to be too much. His cheeks are cooling with the remnants of the nightmare, and after a few more moments he reaches up with both hands to scrub at his face with the cuffs of his shirt. The cheap cloth chafes painfully against his skin, but it's worth it to have some excuse to cover his face.

Danny remains thankfully quiet until Nicholas finds the wherewithal to sit up and pretend a moment like he hasn't just had a night terror about him - that he doesn't want to shove up against him to be sure he's warm, to press thumbs against his pulse just too feel it still going.

"Do you want - ?"

"No, no," Nicholas interrupts with a shake of his head, stiffly standing up and rubbing sharply at his brow. He turns away, as much as he doesn't want to, and coughs slightly before taking a deep breath. "I'm fine, just a - " he pauses slightly, biting his tongue, "Just a dream."

Danny falls silent again, and remains that way even as he gets up to head toward his small kitchen, where soon the telltale, if small, roar of a kettle is heard quickly heating water to a boil.

A small, habitual part of Nicholas' mind groans at the noise, ever disgusted by the existence of that cheap, plastic kettle. Danny has, since that first incidental sleepover, dismissed his concerns of taste as psychosomatic, the actual wording much more rude, and even actively refuses to replace it. Oddly, Nicholas manages now to find some comfort in the old point of contention, residual tremble in his fingers slowly ceasing as he concentrates on loathing for plasticy English Breakfast.

"Danny, I really don't need tea," Nicholas sighs, tripping over another box as he makes to follow. "I should probably head - damn it all," he groans, palming at a muscle in his leg that starts to spasm in the exact spot he'd scraped it in the nightmare. He must've been sitting wrong, and earned more than the usual strained neck as a result when he fell asleep.

"'S not normal tea," Danny mutters, glancing up as his fingers deftly flip through a box that Nicholas has never seen before, wooden and appearing quite old, one corner cracked down to the bottom, seamed messily by long-dried glue. He pulls out a sealed jar that appears to contain herbs, purple and yellow, and then proceeds to twist it open and deposit an amount into a spherical, metal infuser.

Nicholas would have doubted before now that Danny even known what an infuser was, let alone actually have one.

"I'm really fine," he repeats, trying to look as convincing as possible. "It was just a dream, everyone has them - what is that again?"

"Lavender and chamomile, good for relieving anxiety and calming the nerves," Danny says, brow furrowing as if he's repeating something he's read. "I think you been due some since before you got to Sandford."

Nicholas resists the urge to roll his eyes like a petulant child, and sighs, rubbing at his brow once more. "I don't put much stock in herbal remedies, Danny."

"Don't matter," Danny shrugs off, pushing the mug along the counter and eliciting a dull scrape as it catches on an old crack. "You're going to drink it anyhow."

The kitchens now smells vaguely like a fancy laundry, scent only growing thicker with time, so Nicholas sighs, delicately picks up the cup, and wonders slightly if Danny's been hiding speciality teas the entire time, or found them for just this moment. Nicholas has not had anything more exotic than his usual in the morning for nearly the last decade, making this even more discomfiting, and, in the end, can't bring himself to actually taste it, setting the mug back down on the counter with a wary glance at Danny.

Rather than any margin annoyed, though admittedly that is rather difficult to do under any circumstances, Danny appears more curious than anything.

"Smells good?"

"Yes, thank you," Nicholas agrees out of polite habit, glancing down at it once more, and hoping that means the end of it. The silence drags on longer, though, and he begins to feel anxious again, tapping at the edge of the warm mug with the side of his finger.

"You're supposed to take the tea out first," Danny advises, leaning forward toward him from across the counter in a way that could almost be considered conspiratorial.

"Right, of course," Nicholas agrees, nodding slightly as he proceeds to do as told by rote, the dull clink of the infuser touching down on a plate of questionable sanitation marking his realization that he's just agreed to drink it by implication. He exhales slowly and picks the mug up once more, blowing slightly on the surface before warily taking a sip.

"That weren't the first time," Danny says abruptly, his eyes going wide and sympathetic, though coloring his tone there's also an edge of accusation that nearly bleeds into hurt. "You've them nightmares all the time, seems like."

Nicholas chokes slightly, covering his mouth to keep from making a mess, and sets the mug down as he coughs for a few painful moments while he tries to generate a proper response. The only thing now he's thankful for is -

"Sometimes you mutter about, even."

Goddamn it. Apparently, even his subconscious is so comfortable around Danny now that it's gone and started telling him things, how absolutely frustrating.

"Ah, that's …" Nicholas trails off, looking down for a moment and inhaling sharply. "I hadn't known it was so obvious."

"You ain't never been this bad, though," Danny continues, mouth turning down even further with concern. "Never cried."

Nicholas is in the middle of trying to form some measure of denial, insist it's nothing excepting nerves, but Danny's expression stops him before he can even open his mouth. He seems curious without judgement, sympathetic to a fault, and has apparently been uncharacteristically patient in asking questions. It honestly makes Nicholas feel a margin guilty, like he's let Danny down again.

"That night at the church, you know," Nicholas sighs, swallowing slightly as he looks down, breaking eye-contact. "It was just... It was a shock."

Danny doesn't say a word, doesn't even move, for long enough that Nicholas starts to worry he's said the wrong thing. He knows he's still some measure infallible in Danny's eyes, especially after literally riding into the village armed and on a white horse - which had been terrifying in its own way - and he can't help but feel regret that he may have just lost some of that respect, however false the impression is anyway.

He starts slightly when Danny finally does react; first in a sharp inhale, then pursing his lips so tightly that they look as if they might go numb. Nicholas is taken aback by the expression that falls over Danny's eyes, too, not dissimilar to the look he had when telling Nicholas to run back to London and never come back. It's just as heart-wrenching now as it was then, perhaps even more so, as Nicholas isn't quite sure what could have brought it on.

A moment later, Nicholas has the uncomfortable realization that Danny might somehow associate this discovery of fault with his father's fall from grace. He finds himself trying and unable to form any sort of rebuttal, the nightmare still fresh in his mind, and though he knows he didn't kill anyone, that none of it was really his fault - he still can't help but shoulder some of the blame.

"Danny, I'm -"

"I wouldn't really've hurt you, not ever," Danny suddenly bursts out, his mouth twisted down in some terrible, sad grimace. "They were holding sharp things and wearing black cloaks and they were threatening you terribly - I didn't know what to do; I panicked."

Nicholas blinks rapidly, trying to catch up as Danny exhales with a soft, wretched whimper.

"I weren't ever really going to hurt you," Danny repeats, lips curling into his teeth in a way that looks painful. "I would've told you my plan, but there weren't time… They were so quick for pensioners, you know."

"What? Danny, no," Nicholas says hurriedly, nearly hitting his hip on the counter edge as he rounds it, trying to get on the same side as Danny as quickly as possible. "I never had - it's the catacombs, it's always the catacombs."

"But you always mutter my name," Danny says dejectedly, looking down at the stained linoleum.

Nicholas hesitates a tense, nervous moment before he slips arms around Danny. He has been told he's a terrible hugger, all elbows and angles, but it seems really like the appropriate instance for one. He even inexpertly tucks his head over Danny's shoulder and swallows nervously - this feels slightly indulgent, but comforting all the same, hopefully to the both of them.

"You're always down there with them, is why," Nicholas murmurs, resisting the urge to squeeze his arms tighter. "I always find you down there, covered in cobwebs like you've been there for days and I'd never noticed."

"Really?" Danny asks, sounding just slightly distrustful. "You're not saying that to be nice?"

"No," Nicholas reassures him, forcing a slight, disbelieving chuckle. He breathes with Danny a few moments, testing out this new boundary he might've just crossed. It's a bit like when they've fallen together asleep on the sofa, but intentional, which is almost nicer for some indeterminable reason.

He leans back, and last moment makes a snap decision, and instead of stepping away, slides both his hands up to cradle Danny's head, forcing him to look up and into Nicholas' eyes, so close that their foreheads rest against each other.

He takes a nervous breath, then determinedly swallows, "I always trusted you Danny."

Danny is silent for a beat. "Even when you were running away?"

"Even when I was running away," Nicholas reassures firmly, nodding just slightly. It's not strictly true, in the most absolute sense. A good officer always assumes all variables, even the very, very unlikely ones.

Danny seems to relax completely, stiffness bleeding out of his shoulders, and he breaks eye contact only for a moment before looking back up at Nicholas. His countenance has changed almost completely, and he's got a narrow expression like he knows something, though what it is, Nicholas certainly has no clue.

Nicholas curls his fingers in Danny's hair a moment, just slightly selfish, before he begins to pull away, only to be held still close when one of Danny's hands comes up to grasp his elbow.

"Um," he intones, slightly startled. It's not that he really wants to move, more that he has begun to feel just slightly awkward, something Danny apparently did not share.

(To be honest, he's very rarely seen Danny be awkward at all, not even in the very memorable instance of an elderly vegetable stand woman mentioning that he must have 'impressive girth', clearly without any concern of his trouser size.)

Danny eyes him curiously, and suddenly, without any overt reason, Nicholas is hyperaware of all the places they are touching, which is nearly everywhere. Especially so, however, by the soft puffs of air that spread across his lips, and he… He really needs to move, before he does something monumentally unwise and completely inexcusable.

"I thought you were going to kiss me," Danny says, his voice soft, curious, and completely unembarrassed.

"I - uh," Nicholas stutters slightly, completely unprepared for something like this; most of his relationships have been rather less spontaneous - he hadn't planned for this at all. He'd thought about it, but not under the impression that it would ever get to a point where it was a simple question. "I hadn't quite gotten that far?"

Danny hums slightly, glancing at his lips before apparently deciding to do the job himself, leaning up just slightly and softly pressing his lips to Nicholas'. His lips are just slightly chapped, but not disagreeably, and Nicholas has the insane spare thought that Danny must have an inhumanly high body temperature, because this is the warmest, most pleasant kiss he's possibly ever experienced. It lasts only a few moments longer, lips only parting slightly, and no tongue, before Danny is leaning back with a satisfied look.

Nicholas takes a breath, feeling his face heat up like he's back in secondary school. "Well, that was - "

"It's alright," Danny interrupts, reaching up and patting his cheek. "I should've shown more than just action films, they're terrible examples."

"Okay," Nicholas agrees absently, still rubber banding between warmth and comfort and being so sure that he'll never have another nightmare again with this sort of empirical evidence.  

"I'll add ones with romance to the stack - Doris has some good ones," Danny continues, running a hand down Nicholas's shirtfront. "Or Andy, he likes watching ones that make him cry - I ain't supposed to know that though."

"I wouldn't think," Nicholas agrees, and then makes the not-so-difficult decision to be the one to lean forward this time, carding both his hands through Danny's hair and enjoying the way it makes him hum.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in 2013 and I had sort of forgotten about it, so please pardon any odd references.


End file.
